


when you're older you might understand

by selenedaydreams



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenedaydreams/pseuds/selenedaydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Q doesn't understand James but maybe that's a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you're older you might understand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plinys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/gifts).



> For a fic swap with the prompt "the fourth most played song in your itunes," which happened to be Trust Me by The Fray and also where the title of this fic comes from. 
> 
> Hope you like it, babe.

**i.**

The tiles of his bathroom floor are stained with drying blood and there’s an empty bottle of Paracetamol sitting discarded in the sink.

Q wonders when this became a typical Tuesday night, when the worry and bone deep fear was replaced by a strange sense of comfort with hints of frustration.

His sheets are probably ruined too, _his white sheets_ , considering that the shabby first aid kit he keeps under the sink doesn’t have the necessary supplies to fix anything bigger than a paper cut. Maybe next time he’ll splurge on something that James can’t ruin, (although he has yet to figure out if such a thing exists).

 “Are you aware that hospitals exist?”

James is asleep when Q enters the bedroom and flicks the lights on but he can’t bring himself to care, doesn’t want to care, more like.

“Why do I need to go to hospital when I have you?”

Comes the response, spoken with a charming smile that stopped working on Q months ago.

“Because I’m not a medically trained doctor and there’s only so much bleach can salvage.”

“I’ll buy you new sheets.”

Q wants to continue the conversation, wants to tell him that life doesn’t work like that. You can’t always just replace something that’s damaged but saying so would probably earn him another philosophical lecture that he’d end up believing because of how tired he is.

“How badly are you injured?”

Despite posing then question, he doesn’t attempt to examine him. He opts instead to undress so he can sleep in peace, or as much peace as he’ll be able to get.

“I’m fine.”

The look Q shoots him as he tosses his clothes into the hamper loosely translates to ‘that’s not an answer,’ but James ignores him in favor of shift closer to one side of the bed to give Q enough space to join him.

“Come here.”

There’s a gentle edge to the words that Q has yet to get used to. It’s cruel, really, because James knows, _he knows_ , that he’ll never refuse him. Has he ever refused him?

Q doesn’t even get a chance to lay down before James wraps his arms around him and pulls him closer, kissing the corner of his lips.

“I don’t understand you.”

Q whispers those words against his lips before kissing him, properly kissing him. His hands move under the covers over James’ skin, touches extra careful especially when they find a rather large patch of gauze plastered to James’ side.

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

 

**ii.**

When he walks into his office the next morning there’s a fresh cup of tea on his desk, Earl Grey, along with a box of his favorite chocolate biscuits from that little store near his flat. The only store that sells them in the whole city.

That evening when he goes home he finds his bed covers changed and the ones from last night clean and neatly folded on top of his dresser.

If there was ever a physical manifestation of the words ‘I love you,’ Q thinks that this is it.

 

**iii.**

They’re in Paris and it’s cold and raining and despite the unfamiliar city he takes comfort in the terrible weather that reminds him so much of London. 

The only reason he even agreed to me James there was because he could take the train and didn’t have to fly, even if flying was faster.

The hotel James has asked him to meet him at is lavishly adorned with marvel floors and furniture that looks as if it belongs in a castle and it makes him feel even more out of place. It’s not the hotel MI6 paid for, he would know, he makes all reservations, which means that James had chosen and paid for it himself.

“Are we celebrating something?” Q asks once James descends the grand staircase and they come face to face at the bottom. “Perhaps you finally returning my weapons in one piece?”

Teasing is second nature. It’s familiar and Q often finds himself slipping into the easy banter when they’re together.

James smiles before leaning in to kiss him, one hand moving to the back of his head to keep him from pulling away because this is new.

Public displays of affection are a common thing for James when he is undercover but those are nothing more than a show, nothing more than hiding in plain sight.

Nothing more than a façade.

This is real, so very real, and so very public and it’s both exciting and terrifying at the same time.

And frustrating too because every time Q thinks he has James figured out he does something that throws him completely off kilter.

Maybe that’s exactly why he does it.

 

**iv.**

It’s almost midnight when James makes it home, (when did it stop being just his flat?) and Q is almost finished updating the new security system.

James seems one or two drinks away from being officially drunk and there’s nothing new there. He doesn’t sway when he walks towards the couch so Q doesn’t offer any assistance.

“Were you watching?”

Despite the vagueness of the question, Q knows exactly what he’s referring to and he adds a few more lines of code before answering.

“It’s my job to watch you on your missions so yes, I was watching.”

His voice doesn’t betray any emotion, there’s no traces of bitterness or anything other than the slight exhaustion he always feels late at night.

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

Q glances over at him, watching him for moment before turning back to his laptop.

“I don’t care if you did or didn’t.”

The statement isn’t meant to be any more or any less than what it is. There’s nothing to read into although he can feel James studying him more intently.  

“Most people would.”

Q smirks in response and considering how carefully James is watching him, he’s sure notices.

“I’m not most people.”

There’s a long moment of silence that gives Q enough time to finally finish the program and put his laptop away under the coffee table.

“I would care if you slept with someone else.”

Q wonders what could have brought this on. He’s supervised James on dozens of missions, many of which consisted of him getting _very_ close to women (and a couple of men too, although those were scarce and few). How many of them he had slept with, Q wasn’t sure because he had never felt the need to ask. At the end of the day, James always came back to him and that was answer enough.

“I don’t want to sleep with someone else, James.”

This too is meant to be a simple statement but it comes out sounding more like a reassurance, a conformation of sorts that he wasn’t aware James needed.

He has a feeling James doesn’t believe him and it’s probably an absurd idea. But then again, he’s usually not wrong about things like this, so he reaches for James and tugs him into a kiss.

James pushes him down onto the couch almost immediately, taking charge of the kiss and Q allows him without a second thought.

He kisses Q with a desperation that silently screams ‘I need you’ and Q can do nothing but cling to him in response, hoping that it’s enough.

 

**v.**

“I love you.”

Q is almost asleep when he heard those words spoke softly into the night and he briefly wonders if he should dignify them with a response or if he should continue pretending he’s sleeping.

James’ arms are wrapped securely around his waist and when he feels a soft kiss against his shoulder he lifts one of James’ hands to his mouth and presses his lips against his knuckles.

“I’ll always love you.”

“That’s all I’ve ever hoped for.”


End file.
